


The Guardian

by SkullCherry



Series: Of Roses and Silver [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergent, F/M, Kid!Dragonborn, Modded Skyrim, Original Characters - Freeform, no beta we die like men, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkullCherry/pseuds/SkullCherry
Summary: Grimrose Direnni was traveling to Skyrim on business when she was captured in a boarder-ambush, and dragged into a mission she had no choice but to accept.
Series: Of Roses and Silver [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557799
Kudos: 6





	1. The Beginning

Her life changed forever on a Morndas.   
It was the 17th of Last Seed, 4E201, and the sun was hanging hotly in the sky, and she would have guessed it was half past nine by the shadows. She was bound, gagged, and in rags as she rode in the same gods forsaken wagon as a squad of Stormcloak rebels, who were all bickering back and forth between an Imperial Soldier and a horse thief. She had hoped to cross out of Cyrodiil into Skyrim without bumbling into any of the guards, and it was just her luck that she walked right into an ambush just like the rebels did. 

But it is not the capture by the Empire that changed her life. She had been on the wrong side of the law before, and this was hardly new to her. The guards in Cyrodiil were quick, and often hauled her into a cell for further questioning. These guards, tired from the civil war, eager to be done with the endless battles, had captured all and were carting them away. She notes with some growing alarm that it is deeper into Skyrim they are traveling, and that as they enter the grey towered town she spotted a headsman riding alongside them, and then ahead of them into town as the prisoners were processed. 

“Papa, what are they going to do with those people?” She hears a little girl’s voice ask, only to be hushed by her mother, and ushered away from the scene. 

Facing one more executioner would not change her life, either. But that did not make it any more frightening, and so in knowing she could likely talk things out with the guards, she points frantically to her gag and tries to untie it, the captain looking at her with disgust. The elven woman gestures again to the gag, and grunts as it is at last yanked free. Before she can launch into her proclamation if innocence, and ‘There must be some misunderstanding,’ the captain grabs her by the threadbare fabric of her shirt.   
“You don’t look like a soldier… what is your name, elf?” She growls, eyeing up the prisoner with a sneer. 

“Grimrose Direnni, there has to be some mistake, I really am not a Stormcloak--”   
“Captain, she isn’t on our list…” A soldier says beside the armored woman, who simply looks exhausted, and uninterested in whose name is on what list. “Forget the list, she goes to the block with the rest.”   
“As you wish, captain. I’m sorry, elf, we’ll be sure your remains are delivered back to Morrowind.”  
“I’m from Cyrodiil!” she spits before the gag is replaced, and she is ushered away from the soldiers, back into line to await her death. She was going to die because some Imperial idiot couldn’t be bothered to investigate their prisoners, and not even in her homeland. Bile rises in her throat, and Grimrose closes her eyes, taking deep calming breaths through the nose. One by one, rebels- presumed rebels- are executed, and she comes closer and closer to the end of the line. 

When it is at last her turn to kneel before the headsman, she listens to the priest ramble on, and she looks out across the townsfolk watching for a sympathetic eye. When she finds none, her own eyes harden and glares right back into the faces of the crowd. She stops when she meets the gaze of an older woman, eyes like shards of eyes piercing her. The older woman is speaking, but Grimrose can’t hear over the blood rushing to her ears, a deafening roar split the skies open and freezing the headsman in his tracks. 

“What in the… a dragon! There is a dragon attacking! Men, to your stations!” The captain commands, the crowds bolting like roaches as the fiery breath of the dragon rains down on them. Grimrose struggles to stand, and charges clumsily into a building. The guards are much more preoccupied not being eaten to see her or any other prisoner running free, and Grimrose wonders if this was some divine intervention after all. She doesn’t question it for long, and looks around for something to free herself with. 

Thinking fast, she arches her back and shoved her wrists over a fire, thanking her dunmeri ancestors for such a heat resistant hide, straining to snap the burning bindings off before her clothes caught fire. The dragon outside was rampaging, and coming closer to her already half destroyed hovel. It ate up the guards in its way like they were salmon in a bear’s maw, swiping left and right to be rid of those it wasn’t going to waste the energy eating. Grimrose felt a deep knot of dread form in her stomach as the dragon looked her way with those malevolent red eyes, opening its putrid mouth and breathing out in its gutteral language, piece by piece. 

“Yol--” it inhales, and she can see the fire building in its chest. It is only a matter of time until her bindings break, but Grimrose is frozen to the spot with fear. 

“- Toor--” She can see her reflection trembling in its eyes, and she feels her arms break free of the terror trapping them, her burning cuffs snapping as the old woman from earlier leaps from deeper inside the house and shoves Grimrose aside.

“--Shul!” The monster blasts the little wooden house with a fireball twice its size, shattering beams and leaving the home in a pile of ashen rubble. It turns its attention elsewhere, satisfied with the destruction it wrought. 

Grimrose huddles under a pile of broken logs, and sees the old woman wheezing for her breath before her, half her body trapped beneath the beams that once supported her house. Coughing, Grimrose crawls to the old woman and checks for her life, fraught with guilt and worry. “Hold on, I’ll get you out of here, old woman, hold on!” She says, but knows in her heart that there is too much blood pouring out, and she has not enough strength to raise these beams herself. 

“Hush… and listen… Please…” The woman coughs, her skin coated in ash and blood. Her icy eyes looking lifeless as she reaches out for Grimrose “I saved you...so you can protect my baby… please. I have seen it… you must take my daughter… to Whiterun…” She begs, blindly grasping for Grimrose’s hands, the elf holding the woman’s hands nothing short but tender, and staring intently. “...I shall do as you ask, old woman. Where is your daughter?” 

“She ran off… to the towers... when the dragon came… Silvyra Aurelie...please, save her…” Says the woman, pressing a pair of amulets into Grimrose’s hands, and closing her eyes. “Go...go, now!” She continues, using the last of her strength to push the elf back just as another beam falls between them, saving Grimrose for the second time in as many minutes. The elf turns and scrambles out of the burning house, covered in blood and ash, dragging herself out as she yells in pain, her mission now to save the woman’s babe by any means. 

Grimrose clutches the amulets and takes off running to the tallest tower she can see as soon as she is standing, the sounds of the dragon’s attack rushing back to her all at once. Dodging fireballs, stray arrows, and panicked citizens is no easy feat, coupled with her frantic search for any child responding to her cries of ‘Silvyra, Aurelie’ with even a scared glance upwards.

When little Silvyra hears someone calling her name, she peeks out trembling from her hiding place, a wooden platform beside the towers once meant for performance and speeches, now used mostly for executions. She sees the elven woman calling out for her, but doesn’t move from her hiding spot or call out. She is struck frozen with fear, cuts all across her body aching and stinging. The heat of the fire coming close to scorching her, when at once she sees the amulets in the stranger’s hand. Her mother’s handmade amulets! 

With this, she crawls out and runs through the mud to Grimrose, sobbing, “I’m here, I’m right here!” in her small voice, tripping halfway and landing before an open section of wall, just before the dragon’s malicious eye. It rears its ugly head, and opens its mouth in a way that is too familiar for Grimrose. The elf puts all her energy into running to the girl, clutching the amulets so hard they cut her hands as she slides to her knees and sweeps the child away from death’s jaw. She throws up a ward with her barely-there magicka, and picks the child up with her other arm, protecting her from the flames with her body and her magic. 

The little girl screams and clings to Grimrose as the dragon stops and prepares for another try, while the elf makes no such efforts for a third meeting with the monster’s fire. She turns and runs into the nearest stone building, Helgen’s Keep, sealing the doors shut behind her. She doesn’t stop running until they are so far underground that the beast’s rampaging can no longer be heard, sliding down a dank dungeon wall, hissing in pain as the stone rubs against her raw skin. Grimrose lets go of the child, and checks her over, panicking for an instant when she doesn’t respond. She sighs in guilty relief to find her merely fainted from the action, with few wounds to speak of. 

Placing the child on a patch of moss growing from the floor, Grimrose carefully scouts around for armor, weapons, and potions of use. Unfortunately, most of the Keep has been picked clean already, and there is nothing but dirty soldier’s clothes and iron swords left for the taking, with no potions to speak of. She curses, and dresses in a stranger’s clothes, sheathing the blade at her hip as she sets to using her magic to heal the girl of her cuts and bruises. 

Looking on Silvyra’s sleeping form, Grimrose tucks the child in with scraps of cloth and waits for her to awaken, head in her hands as she thinks of the best way to get them out of their current mess and, at her mother’s last wishes, into Whiterun as soon as possible. She knew traveling with a child would be tough, let alone one so clearly not hers. 

It was there, sitting in a moldy dungeon, waiting on a dragon to leave the area so they could make a break for it, that Grimrose clearly and abruptly knew. 

Her life was changed forever.


	2. The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimrose and Silvyra escape the dungeon together, and begin the long trek to Riverwood. But the night is dark, and full of terrors. Will the pair reach the cozy town unharmed?

Grimrose sat nursing her own wounds, waiting patiently for the girl named Silvrya to awaken. The child was fitfully resting, but Grimrose was loath to wake her and force her to wait in the dark alongside her. She was not looking forward to having to tell the girl her mother was likely dead, and lets out a long sigh. Instead, she focuses on healing herself bit by bit. Her magicka is depleted from the mad rush into this dungeon, and from healing the child first. 

Slowly, she felt her strength return in full, and let the healing magics fade. She sat in the dim light, and sets to stay awake until the girl awakens. She busies herself gathering materials for the trip, small things she could sell in a nearby village in hopes she could buy passage on a carriage. Walking all the way to Whiterun does not sound pleasing, but as she thinks on it, it may be the best course of action. A wagon full of people is obviously more tempting to a dragon than a lone pair, and Grimrose is more than capable of defending them from petty bandits. 

She takes a moment to look at the child, still dirty from the ash outside, and sighs once more. She couldn’t have seen more than eight or ten summers at most, and her long golden hair was too nicely kept to suggest a life of running around, and there were too few scars on her legs for Grimrose to think she had any life of hardship. Cute, like a little cherub, in the way that young children often are… but her facial features say she is likely a Breton, with Nordic heritage. Her mother, the grey haired seer with piercing eyes, was definitely Breton. That would explain the penchant for magical sight, somehow knowing Grimrose’s arrive long before Grimrose did.

She looks at the amulets in her hands, and holds them into the light to see better as the child stirs in her sleep. Polishing off the dirt, ash, and blood is easy, and reveals a pair of precious crafts made by a master jeweler. One an elaborately decorated raven-skull mask, is set with a ruby crystal cut like a rose on the forehead, and articulating with stylized ebony vines on either side. It felt tailored to Grimrose, as if it were quite literally made for her. She can only assume the other is suited to the girl, and examines it as well. 

A moonstone necklace that contains a heavenly feather design made of silver, the centerpiece a fine looking moonstone, cut to match the ruby rose on its twin necklace. Birds of a feather, Grimrose supposes. 

Setting the fine jewelry down on a sack, she looks back to the child, jolting when she meets the little girl’s light blue eyes. “You’re awake… How do you feel?” The elf asks, staying still as not to frighten the girl. A few tense moments of silence, and Silvyra answers in a weak, timid voice. “Sore...I’m tired...Where is my mama?” 

Grimrose stops herself from flinching, and forces herself to maintain eye contact with the girl. “Are you Silvyra Aurelie? Your mother...She asked me to take you to Whiterun.” She says softly, leaning forward. “It...was what she asked of me, before… the dragon got her. Left these to you,” 

She holds up the amulets, and Silvyra’s eyes well up with unshed tears, and her bottom lip trembles something fierce before she looks down. “...Mama told me she and Papa was going away soon. And that someone would help protect me when she was gone. Are you that someone? You have her amulets, and know my name like she said.” Silvyra asks, voice wobbling with the effort it takes to hold in her tears.

“Your mother...was uncommonly wise. Farseeing, and brave. She knew by some divination I would be here, and that she… would not.”Grimrose stands up, and dusts her dirty clothes off in an effort to look presentable. She offers a smile at Silvyra, not wanting to appear frightening. “My name is Grimrose Direnni, a pleasure to meet you. I wish the circumstances were not so dire…”

“M’name’s Silvyra Aurelie...but I guess you already knew that.” The girl replies, rubbing her eyes dry and hiccupping to herself as she sits up. Grimrose sets the amulets gently on her lap, and sets to packing their gear up to move out. “You’re like my knight, right? You’ll… you’ll keep me safe,right?” Silvyra asks, scrambling to her feet and holding one amulet in each hand. The girl holds out the dark raven-skulled amulet to Grimrose. “If so...this is yours. To show you’re my guardian. Mama told me to give it to my guardian,”

Grimrose looks at the jewelry with a baffled expression, blinking a few times as she kneels on one knee before the child. “Little Silvyra… Your mother saved my life, and for that I shall protect yours. I shall be your guardian,” she vows, feeling a wave of finality as the child slips the amulet over her head. Grimrose returns the sentiment, and sets the silver amulet over Silvyra’s shoulders, closing her eyes. 

Silvyra puts on a stiff upper lip, and helps Grimrose stand, looking around the dungeon with a shiver. “...it’s cold down here… where are we going now?” The child asks, letting Grimrose set a thicker (if dirty) shirt over the girl with little resistance. “We’ll see if there is another exit from the dungeon, and find our way to the next closest village for supplies. After that, we’ll be walking to Whiterun. From there… I do not know.” 

The girl nods, and holds onto Grimrose’s arm, the elf picking up their gear and holding a torch before them. Taking a deep, steadying breath, they descend into the darkness. The sounds of battle long since muffled, leaving them to wonder if it is all over by now…

Grimrose and Silvyra sneak through the shadows, the elf careful to keep the child from seeing any of the many corpses paving their way, soldiers and rebels unable to put aside their differences long enough to survive a dragon attack. Soon, they navigate out of the Keep’s dungeon and into a cave system, light filtering down from above them in cracks and holes, glowing mushrooms leading the way to their escape. 

Covering her young ward’s mouth as they sneak past a nest of giant spiders, Grimrose has no interest in fending off spiders three times her size. Silvyra gets the hint, and keeps both hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming every time she spots a horrifying spider. It came close when she saw one sucking out the essence from a bound body, the girl very nearly fainting in terror at the sight. Grimrose was disgusted, but far less affected by the scene. She hefts Silvyra up and rushes past the spiders, leaving them unaware they were ever there. 

Quick, quiet steps bring them at last through the cave, passing the corpse of a bear riddled with arrows, through the system of caves, and out into the dark night. Grimrose can smell rain on the way, and heaves a sigh as she sets Silvyra down beside her. “We are out of there, at least. I see lights in the distance, it looks like a village. Let’s hope we can get a map while we’re there.” 

“And a warm room,” The girl says with chattering teeth, pulling her clothes tighter against her and shivering with each step. Grimrose pities the girl, and holds her hand as she carefully picks her way through the dark. “Say… My arm is getting tired from holding this torch, do you think you can do it until we reach civilization?” The elf asks, nonchalantly showing the child how to hold it at a safe distance while illuminating the area around her. 

Soon, Silvyra stops her trembling, the source of heat just enough to keep her warm as they walk. Grimrose casts candlelight on herself as they walk, keeping her eyes peeled for wildlife, bandits, or another dragon attack. Grimrose holds on to the girl’s free hand, cautious of losing the child in the dark. By the star they walk, Silvyra pressing closer to Grimrose every time she hears a twig snap, or a distant wolf howl to its pack. 

“Fret not, if we get attack I can protect you. And...wolves seldom attack what they can’t take own. We are perfectly safe together.” Grimrose says, leaving out that the wolves would specifically target a slow child, not wishing to frighten her more than today already has. Silvyra seems content to cling to Grimrose’s arm, holding tight as they navigate the dark roads. She screams when thunder snaps in the sky above, unleashing a torrent of rain with little warning. Their torch is thoroughly doused in the rain, and the sole source of light remains to be Grimrose’s spell. 

“Drop the torch and run, but don’t let go of my hand!” The elf commands, breaking into a run and all but dragging the girl behind her, the howling wolves calling out in the storm. Silvyra cries, terrified of the storm and the monsters chasing them, holding onto Grimrose’s arm with all the strength in her body, little nails digging into the skin for purchase. 

Out of habit, Grimrose calls forth Lightning Bolts to her hand, prepared to send a volley of storm to any enemy in sight. But she can’t see much in the rain, and is going by the dim light in the distance, praying it is a village and not a bandit encampment. That there isn’t a rushing river between them, and that the damn wolves will lose interest. But the running probably only spiked their hunting instinct. 

Cursing to herself, Grimrose pulls Silvyra faster, all but carrying the child, and very nearly dislocating her shoulder in the process. When the elf hears a telltale snarl of a wolf preparing to strike from the ridge above them, Grimrose lifts Silvyra into her arms and shoots the Lightning Bolt straight up, continuing to run full speed ahead into the dim lights. It isn’t conducted by the rain, but it startles the wolves into rushing back into the forest where it is safe.

Not letting up her pace, Grimrose rushes to the nearest and best lit building in the town, sputtering water out of her face as Silvyra sobs into her shoulder, the pair shivering and collapsing on the floor, panting roughly as the inhabitants of the house stare at them in shocked horror, a small family sitting down for dinner. 

A large nord man rises from his table, bristling warily as his wife rushes to the fallen pair, helping Grimrose over to the fireplace, setting her down and nodding when they make eye contact. The older nord matron recognizes one woman protecting a child as plain as day, and motions for her husband to settle down without a word.

“You’re soaked to the bone, the pair of you,” she chides, rushing to grab blankets and ushering her own daughter downstairs. “Dorthe, go wake up your cousin and get him to gather up some clothes. You two best dress in something dry a’fore you catch your death of cold.” The nordic girl rushes down a set of stairs, calling out for her cousin.

“T-thank, you,” Grimrose stammers, checking over Silvyra carefully and healing her sore arm, the little girl sighing to herself as the healing warmth spreads along her shoulder. “Tha-thanks,” the little girl echoes, leaning closer to the fire. 

Soon, a lumbering soldier steps up the stairs quickly, dressed in modest underclothes and holding a bundle of clothes for the drenched duo. “Here you go, Sigrid. Uncle Alvor, want me to get more firewood from outside?” He asks, looking past the soaked women and to his uncle.  
Alvor shakes his head after a minute, and waves him off. “No need, just the clothes. Sorry to wake you, Hadvar.”

Grimrose looks up at the man as he hands her the dry clothes, and narrows her eyes. Recognition lights up in his as he speaks, though he makes no move to apprehend her. “You… you’re the prisoner from before. I’m surprised you survived that whole ordeal.” 

“The dragon or the unlawful execution?” She says, standing up and holding a blanket to safeguard Silvyra’s modesty as the girl hastily changes from wet clothes to dry. Hadvar has the decency to look ashamed, offering a nervous smile. “It was the captain’s call to move you along the line… for that, I’m sorry. You really were just trying to cross the border, weren’t you?”

Grimrose nods as Silvyra finishes dressing, and sighs. “I was, and am no part of Skyrim’s civil war. Currently, I’m acting as guardian for this child,” she adds, gesturing to the Breton girl who looks up at Hadvar silently. As if sensing Grimrose’s unease, the girl does the only thing that makes sense. She stomps on his toes and hides further behind her elven guardian. 

Hadvar grunts in pain, and closes his eyes as Grimrose stifles a laugh, covering her mouth and shaking her head. “I-- I’m sorry, I didn’t teach her that. She just must not like you much, soldier.”  
“My name is Hadvar...and I’d appreciate if my toes weren’t crushed again.” 

Grimrose nods, and pats Silvyra’s head. “Let’s refrain from the violence for a while. Don’t start a fight you can’t win, child. Listen, Hadvar… I only need to know something from you here, and that is how do I get to Whiterun from here?”

“You just head north - you can't miss it. It's the capital of Whiterun Hold, the biggest and the best of the nine holds of Skyrim. But don't take my word for it, I’ve always been partial to Riverwood.” He says, pulling out a map from a worn pack by the door. He shows Grimrose where they are, and where they need to go. She takes mental notes, fully prepared to go by memory when he rolls it up and hands it to her. “You’ll need this. All your belongings were destroyed in the fire, or taken.”

She stares up at him, and nods slightly. “You have my thanks, Hadvar. You aren’t so bad as you seemed earlier, it appears.” Sigrid gently takes Grimrose’s elbow, and gestures towards the makeshift changing room in the corner, and hands the elf a set of clean miner’s clothes. Grimrose nods gratefully and goes to change behind the sheets, as Silvyra is seated at the table and given a bowl of warm stew. “Eat up, child, you’ll need your strength. I reckon you’ve been through some ordeal, I hope this settles you for a while,” Sigrid says, voice low and motherly.

The Breton girl nods slightly, and takes a wooden spoonful of the stew to avoid answering. It is so hot it burns her mouth, but she doesn’t stop shoveling her mouth. It keeps her focused on not crying, and if anyone were to see the tears in her eyes they would hopefully mistake them for the steam meeting her eyes. She looks over to Grimrose as she reappears, and takes in her new guardian with curious eyes. 

Silvyra’s never met many elves other than the Altmer in Helgen, and even then she wasn’t permitted to speak to them. But she remembers they were tall, and imposing. Grimrose is imposing, for certain, but not as towering as the High Elves. Her skin is dusky, like the sky at sunset, and freckles dust her skin like faint twinkling stars in the aether. Her hair is dark red as wine, short and framing her face nicely. Her eyes, like the glow of twin lanterns, a mix of red and gold, like that of the High Elves own mixed with fire. It makes Silvyra think she isn’t all Dark Elf, or maybe that is what all elves look like. She isn’t sure. 

Grimrose notices the little Breton girl staring over her stew, and raises a brow. “Child, have you never seen my kind before? I find that hard to believe.”  
Flushing, she shakes her head and takes a big bite before answering, swallowing thickly. “I only ever saw the High Elves before, but I know you’re a Dark Elf. Do all Dark Elves have eyes like yours, red and stuff?”

“Of those I have known, mostly yes. Do all Nords have blond hair and blue eyes?” Grimrose says with a coy smirk as she settles down across from the girl, as the rest of the family moves downstairs for slumber. Hadvar remains and stirs the stew for a while yet, silent but present. “I guess not… he’s got brown hair,” Silvyra says, gesturing with her spoon to the Nord man. “Indeed he does. I am pleased to see your powers of observation are intact.” 

“Hm, you two are a pair. You’re traveling to Whiterun by morning, right? I would suggest walking the way instead of looking for a horse. Not that Riverwood has any stables to offer, but with that dragon prowling about…”  
“I thought dragons were all dead long ago.” Grimrose says, stirring her stew. 

“So did I! If the damn Stormcloaks somehow found one, or woke it up... the war might be about to take an ugly turn. Hard to believe it was just a coincidence, that the first dragon anyone's seen for centuries attacks just as Ulfric was about to be executed.” Hadvar says, huffing into the stew over the fire. Grimrose narrows her eyes at the man, clearing her throat pointedly.  
“You think your General Tullius knows where that dragon came from?”

“No. Not yet. After all, a dragon... something out of old tales and legends... no one could have expected that. But you can bet he'll be trying to figure it out. This could shift the whole balance of the war. If you want to help stop that dragon, your best bet is to go to Solitude and join up with the Legion.” Hadvar adds, flashing a wry smile Grimrose’s way. It meets her neutral frown and raised eyebrow. 

“My current goal is to take Silvyra to Whiterun, and from there travel to Solstheim.” She says lowly, shooting a glance to the little girl, who looks startled at the idea of separating from her guardian. “...Ah. Do you have any idea why your mother wanted me to take you to Whiterun? Do you have family there, or a relative’s homestead?” 

Silvyra shakes her head, and sets down the spoon in her now-empty bowl. “Mama used to talk about a friend there… Oli...Olava, I think. To go talk to her if anything happened to Mama,” the girl slides her bowl forward and bites her lip worried. Grimrose can plainly see the girl is exhausted, with dark circles growing under her eyes and the way her head bobs up and down. “Ahem… Hadvar. We appreciate the meal and clothes from your family, but we should go sleep in the inn. I collected some gold from the dungeon, should be enough for a room.” 

Listening carefully, she hears the rain has stopped at last, and she finally feels a bone deep exhaustion washing over her in waves. Hadvar nods once, and gestures to the door. “Safe travels, both of you. If you need anything, I will by laying low here for a while.” 

“Safe travels, soldier. Come, little Silvyra, let’s get you into a bed.” Grimrose says, ushering her young ward outside after collecting what meager gear they have. Without delay, they find the Sleeping Giant Inn and easily rent a room, having saved on a meal by eating with kindly Alvor and Sigrid. 

Letting Silvyra rest in the rented bed, Grimrose settles in for the rest of the night in a chair, guarding the door and exhaling deeply as blissfully blank sleep takes her.


	3. The Climb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimrose travels up to Bleak Falls Barrow, ordering Silvyra to stay in Riverwood with Alvor. Deciding to trek up the snowy mountainside alone-- brave, or foolish? Only time will tell, and who knows what threats lurk between the icy shadows...

Grimrose stayed in Riverwood with the child for longer than she would have liked. If she had her way, they would have packed up and left in the early morning when the sun was just rising the sky. But Silvyra wouldn’t have easily kept up the pace with Grimrose, and so the elf waited a while for her to recover and grow ready. Spending the first day doing errands around the small town for coin, helping a fellow elf chop wood while Silvyra helped carry the split lumber to and fro, staying within Grimrose’s sight the entire time. 

That night, they slept in the Inn once more, and Grimrose sat watch by the door, her back aching from the previous night’s poor sleep. She was certain that this night would be no different. She fell into a light sleep, certain she would wake if anyone entered the room. Her dreams were not dreamless, but rather full of scenes throughout the day, as if she were watching a play from another perspective. It gave her much needed time to critique herself, letting her awake with a mind refreshed. 

When she woke in the morning to find a blanket draped over her, she wasn’t sure if she should be impressed that someone managed to do it without her waking up, or worried she wasn’t as light a sleeper as she had thought. Shaking off the worry, she gets up and glances at Silvyra. Her ward is sound asleep, snoring softly and missing on her blankets. It brings a small smile to Grimrose, content that the child had woken in the night and put one of her own covers on the elf. Deciding to let her sleep in a little as a reward, Grimrose puts the blanket back over the child and leaves, walking to the bar as silent as a cat. 

Orgnar, the gruff and stoic inn’s merchant, is standing at his post and cleaning cups for mead. He glances up when Grimrose knocks gently on the bar, not appearing startled at the sudden appearance of someone. Briefly, she suspects he is used to people sneaking in and out, but brushes the thought aside. “The girl is sleeping still. If she wakes up before I return, tell her I went to the general store...please.” she says in her most polite tone.  
“Riverwood Trader, got it. Anything else?” He asks dryly, raising a brow. 

Grimrose shakes her head and drops a coin into his palm for cooperation before walking outside, and glancing around the little cozy town. There are fewer guards than an average town, and the elf would hardly call it well protected. She dreads to think of what would happen should that dragon attack. No wall, buildings all made of wood… she shudders, and picks up the pace to the Riverwood Trader. She can help them when she reaches Whiterun, tell the Jarl there about Helgen if someone else hasn’t. 

In the mean time, they need to be better equipped. Silvyra needs some sort of protection, and Grimrose is certain she could modify something to fit the child. As she enters the store, she spots a pair bickering at the counter, a man looking exasperatedly at a younger woman in heavy makeup. “Well, one of us has to do something!” She hisses, looking rather irritated herself.  
“We are done talking about this.” The man growls out, Grimrose settling against the door and watching the exchange, with some interest. 

“Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it!” The woman says, throwing her hands up into the air and looking ready to stop her foot on the ground. Her brother, as only siblings would look so similar in the elf’s eyes, snaps once more.  
“I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!”, He yells, inhaling to tear into his sister further, happening to see Grimrose from the corner of his eye and composing himself. He exhales slowly, and smiles at her as only a salesman can. “Oh...A customer. Sorry you had to hear that.”

“Don’t stop on my account, it was just getting good. You mention thief-chasing?” She asks, stepping forward and approaching the counter. “Yes...We did have a bit of a... break-in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing. An ornament, solid gold. In the shape of a dragon's claw.” He drawls, looking Grimrose up and down, trying to pin what she may need. Maybe what she could give him, as well. His eyes stop on the chain around her neck, the raven amulet hidden beneath her clothes. He whistles low, and opens his mouth to ask of it, when Grimrose interrupts, pretending not to notice. 

“Do you have any leads as to where they went? For the right price, I could track them down for you.” She says, crossing her arms and looking imposing. Despite her lack of weaponry and armor, she gives off an aura of power that few can match. Whether it is bravado or true strength radiating off her, Lucan can’t tell. But she is his best bet to reclaim the claw so far.

“You could? I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you bring my claw back. If you're going after those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, west of town.” Lucan jumps at the opportunity to get the claw back, smiling at Grimrose. 

Camilla looks from Lucan to Grimrose, brows furrowing as she sighs. She crosses her arms, and heaves a much louder sigh before continuing, “So this is your plan, Lucan?”  
“Yes. So now you don't have to go, do you?” Lucan chides, aiming a glare at his sister and crossing his own arms. Grimrose moves out from in between the siblings to avoid the sparks flying, content to sit and watch this new set of bickering.  
“Oh really? Well I think your new helper here needs a guide.” Camilla declares, shooting a glance over to Grimrose with a triumphant gleam in her eye.  
“Wh- no... I.... Oh, by the Eight, fine. But only to the edge of town!”

“I never said I would go immediately. I have things to take care of here first, you know.” Grimrose says, as politely as she can. If this girl weren’t the sister of the owner, she would have bluntly said the world does not revolve around her whims. “I will need to get supplies, inform my ward…”  
“Fine, but when you’re ready, I'll be right here.” Camilla says, brightening up. Grimrose nods silently, and looks over Lucan’s wares. They don’t have much, but if she is able to haggle him down on some items.

By the time Silvyra enters the Riverwood Trader, Grimrose has already purchased an iron dagger and sword, haggled for two sets of hide armor, of fairly damaged quality. The elf has the loot in a sack, and an empty coin purse by the end of it, feeling the sting to her core. 

“Are we heading to Whiterun now?” Silvyra asks curiously, disappointed as Grimrose shakes her head. “Not yet, I was hoping to take care of one more thing before we left, little one. A host of bandits stole this man’s heirloom, and he is paying me to get it back.”

“Hang on a second… you don’t intend on taking that child up with you?” Camilla asks, looking at the two armor sets. Grimrose nods, raising a brow. “Don’t the people of Skyrim value such skills in their young, battle prowess and all? Fret not, she won’t be let near the bandits. The armor is for when we travel to Whiterun, not for this trek into the mountains.”

Camilla and Silvyra deflate, in relief and disappointment respectively. “But, I want to learn to fight…” the girl says, pouting. Grimrose nods, and puts a hand on her head. “You will. But your first fight was with a dragon, I’d rather your next be with something tamer. Like a straw dummy. For now, let us get these repaired and sized, and I can show you a few things with the dagger before I depart.”

Silvyra glows at the prospect, and the pair leave for the blacksmith, pleased to find Alvor at work. “Hail, blacksmith. Can you help me fit this child for war?” She jests, earning a glower from the stoic nord. He nods, and sighs. “These are dangerous times, when even children should be protected as you.” The man takes the suits of armor and measure out Silvyra, modifying the hide as best he can while keeping it serviceable. In the end, the child’s armor is even fortified by the extra pieces of hide going into padding for the vital points; afterwards, he sets to repairing the elf’s goods as well as he can with what he provides. As he works, Grimrose shows Silvyra how to sharpen daggers and swords, carefully teaching the girl the craft.

“Many thanks, Alvor. I appreciate your help. If you are able… I would ask you watch over Silvyra while I run an errand for Lucan.” Grimrose says, looking over to the man, who merely fixes her with a puzzled expression. “Bandits.” Is all she says, as it slots into place for him.  
“Aye, can watch the pup for a while. You just be sure to come back and get her, you hear? I’ll show her a thing or two about smithing, she can work with Dorthe for the day.” 

Grimrose nods again, and clasps Silvyra on the shoulder, kneeling to eye level with the girl. “Hear that? I’m going up the mountain, but I’ll be back for you. It shouldn’t take long at all, and I’ll be sure to bring back some bandit’s treasure. You just need to stay with Alvor for a while. Maybe pick up a thing or two from him, it will serve you well in life.”  
“You promise you’ll get back, right? Mama says...said, you shouldn’t lie.”  
“I know I’ll be back. I promise, if I lie to you, it won’t be so obvious.” Grimrose reassures, smiling wide reassuringly and standing up, chuckling as the little girl giggles. 

“I trust you. If Mama trusted you… I will too.” Silvyra says, nodding and straightening up. She salutes to Grimrose as the elf turns to leave, prepared to trek up to the Barrow.

Electing not to get guided up by Camilla, Grimrose marches out of Riverwood, across the bridge, and follows the path up the mountain. The sun is high in the sky, and the walk could almost be called peaceful. But she knows not to let her guard down, that was how she was caught by border patrol the first time. If she is caught unaware now, it would likely be by bandits or feral animals. 

Luckily the only animals Grimrose sees are rabbits and the sparse wolves hunting them. With easier prey to chase, they largely leave the woman alone. Those that are reckless enough to attack her end up either frightened off by the sparks she conjures, or slain by it. Grimrose gives a small bandit den a wait birth, not wanting to waste time on smallfry if she could help it. Ignoring their jeers and threats, she treks onward, stopping only when she hears an arrow hits the trunk of a tree beside her. 

She ducks behind it, sighing deeply to herself and glaring at the rowdy bandits. “I had hoped not to stop until I reached the Barrows. But I’m hardly going to retreat on an insult as that,” she announces, sparks charging in her left hand while she readies the sword in her right. 

She waits until another arrow strikes the tree, and the laughter of the bandits rises on the winds. Grimrose charges the tower with a warcry, eyes shining red with fury. “Next time you attack me, you had best not miss!” The elf yells, cleaving through the archer on the bridge with her iron blade, momentum carrying her forward before she turns to face the warhammer wielding bandit. 

“Can’t wait to count out yer coin,” he leers, Grimrose turning her nose up and extending her sparks his way. Electricity courses all along his armor and digs into his nerves, his body spasming and freezing. “Nor can I, scum. Let’s hope you have enough to make this delay worthwhile,”

Grimrose lunges forward and dispatches the man, ears pricked for more movement in the tower. The sound of feet pounding on wood, rushing down creaking stairs alerts her to more foes. Turning on her heel and waiting for them, allowing her magicka and stamina to recharge some. She wouldn’t rush and give them the advantage of the high ground. 

A bandit chief and her mage companion rush into the open, the chief wielding a huge steel greatsword, while the mage remains in the back and plies his leader with wards. Sparks out of the question for the moment, Grimrose meets the chief in the center of the bridge with a fierce grin.  
“Filthy bandit, your men have chosen the wrong traveler to harass,” 

“You’ll look better dead, elf! My men will be avenged this day!” The chief rages, red in the face with fury. Grimrose blocks the heavy slashes of the blade with her iron sword, feeling her stamina strain with each powerful blow. 

“You’ll meet them in Sovngarde soon,” she grits out, waiting for her opening and blocking in the meantime. Luckily the chief is between her and the mage, so Grimrose has little worry over a firebolt or ice spike coming her way. The mage has no room to flank her, and the chief isn’t likely to retreat on her own territory. 

This battle is like those in the Arena back in Cyrodiil. That is to say, brutal, taxing, and over fairly quickly. The ice on the old stones beneath the chief slick her steps, and all Grimrose has to do when the bandit stumbles is hold her blade forward and let the leader impale herself. Catching both of the enemy’s wrists and holding them above her, the elf steps in and sinks her blade deeper, the point coming out on the other side of studded armor. “May the Nine have mercy on your soul, for I have little to spare.” The elf says, ending it with a quick twist, throwing the body sideways as she advances on the mage. 

The last thing the chief sees before falling into the snowbank is Grimrose’s silhouette against the sky atop the bridge, and she is certain that this woman is a daedra in mortal form. No human ever bested her before, and her first lost— to an elf no less— is also her last. She sighs as the cold takes her, and shuts her mortal eyes forever. 

Grimrose easily dispatches the mage, and clears the tower of easy to carry loot. Hunkering down for a while, she heals herself and looks at the battlefield before her. They weren’t particularly well trained or strong, and she is certain that this war is what pushed most of them to banditry. Whether to provide for themselves or to benefit from the thin spread of guards all across Skyrim, it didn’t matter to Grimrose. She was alive, and they were not. She could carry on, and they would not. 

Once her rest is over, she carries on and focuses on the trek up the mountains. The Barrows are in her sight, now, and she can see the outline of bandits in the distance. Steeling herself for more death, the elf sneaks closer, soft and quiet.


	4. The Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, we reach the entrance to Bleak Falls, guarded by bandits clad in furs, hoping to strike it rich by plundering the ancient ruins. Yet, few heed the warnings written on the walls of what lives deep in the Barrow, and many pay the price. Will Grimrose get out of this adventure unscathed?

Grimrose makes quick, brutally quick work of the bandits, just like those in the tower down the mountain. She offers no mercy for those foolish enough to face her, electing to forgo stealth and charge in. Lightning and her iron sword cleaving a path through her foes, Grimrose healing any injuries sustained in battle during a lull moment. She catches her breath and stands outside Bleak Falls Temple, preparing mentally to trek into a dungeon once more. It’s been some time since she went dungeon-crawling, but she feels confident her skills have not rusted yet. 

She quietly makes her way in, and steps through the shadows. She hears a fire on the other side of the room, and hears more people talking. ‘That’s the way to go, then.’ Grimrose thinks to herself, spying many corpses of skeevers and other bandits in her path. Seems these fellows were caught unaware by the blighters, a mistake she would not make. 

"So we're just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?” the first bandit asks, sounding frustrated with her cohorts. Grimrose assumes Arvel is the thief in question, and remembers the name for later.  
“That dark elf wants to go on ahead, let him. Better than us risking our necks.” The nordic bandit says, scoffing to himself and looking around warily. He misses Grimrose in the shadows, and slowly turns the skeever they have roasting over an open fire.

“What if Arvel doesn't come back? I want my share from that claw!” the woman insists, polishing her blade and baring her teeth in distaste at their prospective meal. She likely imagines the riches this golden claw offers buying her a nice dinner, at least. The man seems to grow frustrated with her worry, and snaps at her quickly.  
“Just shut it, and keep an eye out for trouble!” 

Seeing this as her cue to cause ‘trouble’, she begins building up the crackling spell in her hand. Grimrose advances and blasts the furthest bandit in the chest, making the criminal crumple onto the ground in pain. She slashes the closest as he turns to defend his comrade, cut down in one stroke from the dunmeri’s word. 

Grimrose checks their bodies for coin and lockpicks before moving on to further loot the dungeon. It’s easy to get back into the habit, checking for traps as she descends further and further. Fighting rats, bandits, and spiders until she comes to a large open room absolutely slathered in webbing. She hears a muffled voice crying out for help, and peers inside the room where a man is caught in webbing inside a doorframe. He spots her, and urgently jerks his head upwards to where the giant frostbite spider waits. 

Heaving a sigh, and preparing to lay a trap for the beast, Grimrose picks up a piece of rotten lumber and tosses it to the far wall, the spider seeing the movement and dropping onto the floor, turning its back to Grimrose to investigate the prospective prey. She shudders to herself and pounces, planting her sword deep in its bulbous backside, stabbing gracelessly in an effort to slay the spider as quickly as she can. She charges lightning in her hands as she impales the creature, stunning and shocking it as it whirls around in a vain effort to throw her off. 

In the end, the spider stumbles and falls defeated, Grimrose leaping off and panting to herself, disgusted by the amount of its gushing fluids now covering her armor. She spits at her feet, and grabs an ancient linen to clean off, content to leave the man in the doorway hanging as she tends to herself first. His muffled pleas for help become irate the longer he waits, but she ignores him entirely until she feels the spider’s guts are off her. At long last, she glances at the bandit and sizes him up. A dunmer bandit, alone in the dungeon, he fits the bill of Arvel. 

She tears the webbing off his mouth, taking a few hairs with it, and he yowls in pain. “AGH! You…” He exhales to calm himself, and struggles against the webs. “You did it. You killed it. Now cut me down before anything else shows up.” He demands, sending a haughty glare her way. Grimrose gets her sword ready, and taps the webbing with it. She isn’t letting him off easily.

“Are you Arvel?” She asks, in a deadpan tone as she pretends to cut at his restraints.  
“Y-yes? You’re here for the claw, I know....And I know how it works!” He begins, impatient to be freed, talking in hopes she cuts him down faster at the prospect of treasure. “The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together! Cut me down, and I'll show you. You won't believe the power the Nords have hidden there.” He continues, trying to spy on her progress with red eyes. 

“I don’t care. You stole it from a man in Riverwood, didn’t you.” She says, standing up and spinning her blade, earning a baffled stammer from Arvel as he tries to come up with some other excuse. Before he can come up with anything, she smirks and presses the blade to his chest. “I’ll cut you down, thief.”, she says as she pierces the webbing and his armor in one quick motion. Arvel gurgles as life ebbs from him, thrashing more before going still at last. Grimrose waits a few seconds before cutting the body down and checking it for the claw. 

It, along with his journal and some miscellaneous loot she pockets, was in his possession. She chuckles as she puts the claw in her travel bag, and opens his web-stuck book, raising a brow as she reads.  
‘My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it, the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favorite store decoration was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow.  
Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that "When you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands"...’

“So, it is a key… It shouldn’t hurt to pick up where these bandits left off, while I still have the claw.” Grimrose murmurs, closing the book and putting it in her bag as well. Without further delay, she steps over Arvel’s body and goes deeper into the Barrow. It is better lit, strangely, and feels like a more ancient area than that before it. Grimrose is careful as she moves onward, taking the time to blow out a candle here and there to recall where’s she’s been. 

It serves a moot point, as the lair of the undead is rather straightforward, and the new challenge she faces isn’t in the fear of getting lost, but the old draugr waking from their sleep. They are dusty, smell like a crypt, and unpleasant to behold- but ultimately more skilled and better trained than the bandits she fought earlier. And they don’t appreciate intruders like Grimrose waking them up and raiding their urns. 

It takes more effort, but she kills those she wakes with less and less trouble, going as far as to put the seemingly unanimated ones aflame for safety before moving on. The fire eats up the air so far underground, but she wouldn’t want to be trapped underground with the draugr at risk of waking. The lesser of two dangers, as she moves on well before the smoke bothers her. Remarkably well preserved, long-dead Nords turned to piles of bone and ash in her wake. 

Grimrose fights her way further and further, until she comes across stronger draugr than before. Wounds becoming too deep to heal as soon as they appear, and with not enough time to heal them. There is no lull in the following battles, no reprieve, and it wears on her. At a loss for stamina, one of the more hulking draugr manages to knock her aside, crashing into a pile of rocks before the pitch black door it guards. 

If she had to guess, this particular undead was restless, and spent many, many years training in preparation of intruders like her to come and try their hand at looting the sacred resting place. And she was about to face the wrath of the disturbed dead, joining them-- the draugr raises its waraxe above its head and prepares to swing down, yelling in the language of its ilk. “Aav dilon!”

An arrow pierces its temple, and its staggers sideways, before another joins it, followed by a third-- at last it topples over and slams into a wall, sliding down as its weapon leaves its hand. Grimrose glances to her rescuer, seeing a wood-elf she recalls working the lumber mill in Riverwood, wielding a bow in far more adeptly than she ever could. To him, she opens her mouth and speaks the first words that come to her dazed mind. “Aren’t you the one who loves that Valerius girl?” 

“Ah-- indeed. And I’m sure to win her over, thanks to the help of my little friend.” He coughs, stepping aside to reveal Silvyra donning the armor Grimrose commissioned. She rushes to Grimrose’s side and yells out, carrying a few healing potions in a satchel. “You’re hurt, Grimrose! I knew we should have come faster!” 

The elven woman stares in growing horror at this child, and sits up with some effort. She knows the halls leading backwards to the surface are rife with smoke and ashes, and balks at the realization she could have inadvertently lead to the child’s demise with her reckless use of fire...Looking closer, she can see both her rescuers are coated in soot, enough for her to know they have been pursuing her for a while. She closes her eyes, and rubs the bridge of her nose to relieve the pressure building in her head before speaking. 

“I told you to stay with Alvor,” she growls, opening her eyes and accepting the healing tonic with a grimace, swallowing the entirety of the bottle in a deep swig. Her bleeding staunches, and she can feel her wounds healing by the second. When she has enough strength, she narrows her eyes at the child and repeats herself. “I told you to stay with Alvor.” 

“I’m sorry, I just-- I had a bad feeling. I was certain you would get really hurt, and die without me here.” Silvyra deflates some at the scolding, her lip trembling as she speaks. “Faendal wanted to help me after I told Camilla the truth about that bard’s letter.”

“”I would have helped even if you hadn’t told me about that bard’s underhanded scheming, I can’t very well let a child roam about the mountains alone.” Faendal adds, offering a smile to Grimrose. “She would have run off alone if I had not accompanied her, I’m certain.

“I suggest you return her and yourself back to Riverwood, Faendal. And pray Alvor doesn’t skin you for letting her come here,” Grimrose says, standing up with some effort and dusting herself off. She exhales in an effort to control her breathing, the pain slowly ebbing as her wounds heal. In minutes, she is completely fine, and is staring down the others with her arms crossed.  
“Please, Grimrose...I won’t get in the way, and Faendal can help you. I--I’ll carry the healing potions, and I promise I won’t get hurt” 

Grimrose watches the girl, and her shoulders begin to sag. So determined, it feels as if, perhaps, the child has Seen something. Her mother was a Seer, and it would stand to reason that perhaps the offspring could carry the gift. Sighing in defeat, she brushes a hand through her hair and relents. “If you get even one scratch on you, I’ll send you and Faendal back to Riverwood with tanned hides. Until then, you can follow me and cover my back. Carry the potions, I suppose.” The elven woman says, praying she doesn’t come to regret this. 

Silvyra lights up, and nods her head excitedly. Grimrose notes that the child has the sword she gave her, and is more relieved. At least she has some form of protection, on top of her elven escorts. “You both must keep quiet as we continue onward, the draugr are not ones I wish to wake. Henceforth, I will also refrain from immolating them, for your safety.” 

Her rescuers nod, and Grimrose leads their party of three deeper into the dungeon. True to her word, Silvyra is quiet as a mouse and stas out of the fights they get into. The draugr are too focused on the larger threats- Faendal’s archery skills, and Grimrose’s relentless onslaught of blade and magic. Silvyra carries whatever potions and trinkets they collect as the party delves deeper in the dungeon. She doesn’t complain, and is more determined than Grimrose expected to see this quest to its finish...Likely afraid of losing her, the elf suspects. 

They fight their way through Bleak Falls, and into the Hall of Stories that Arvel mentioned before being cut down. Grimrose approaches the door and holds the Golden Claw in her hand, examining it. Along the palm of the key, she sees three symbols, which look to match parts of the door. It takes little effort for her to press the rotating rings into place, and stand back as the ancient nordic door slides unsteadily down. It reveals a sprawling, open cavern. Reclaimed by nature-- or perhaps, always meant to be one with nature-- the room has but one focal point lying onward. 

It is a marvelous sight nonetheless, with bats fluttering amidst the stalactites as they prepare to venture out into the cool night. Grimrose doesn’t let down her guard, despite the serene appearance of the room, and advances with her blade drawn to the black sarcophagus. Beside it appears to be an embalming table, stocked with linens and various vials, likely used in the act of corpse preparation. Grimrose grabs anything sale-worthy, as Faendal keeps watch. Silvyra looks around the room, her eyes lingering on the giant Word Wall. 

It feels like the her gaze is drawn back to it any time she looks away, her eyes burning up the longer she stares. Stepping closer, and looking at the carvings, Silvyra puts a palm on the worn stone and forces her eyes shut. Words fill her mind, in an ancient language she has never been taught, yet she know the meaning by heart. She reads aloud, getting her guardian’s attention. 

“Here lies the guardian  
Keeper of the Dragonstone  
And a force of unending  
Rage and darkness,”

As Silvyra finishes reading the memorial, the party hears a foreboding crack resounds behind them. Followed by another, and another, until the lid of dark stone launches off the sarcophagus, a single withered arm reaching for the sky. Grimrose curses, and the adults prepares for a fight. At her guardian’s signal, Silvyra flees and hides behind the Word Wall, praying to the Nine above for their safety.


	5. The Road to Whiterun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Grimrose and Silvyra are ready to travel to Whiterun.

Silvyra barely makes it behind the Word Wall before the Keeper breaks free of its sarcophagus completely, Grimrose and Faendal already in-position to do battle with the undead. “Whatever you do, don’t come out until we are certain the enemy is dead,” Grimrose reminds, holding her iron sword at the ready. 

The Draugr Deathlord sits up from his resting place, groaning and growling in irritation, his rest abruptly cut short by the intruders. It hefts it's blade up in one arm, and glowers at the adventurers with ethereal blue eyes. “Qiilaan Us Dilon!”, it shouts, leaping into battle with more fervor than one would expect of a dead man. 

“Ready, Faendal? Cover me!” Grimrose shouts, meeting the ebony blade midswing, using Flames in her offhand to force it to step back. The draugr resists every step, before taking a deep breath and glowering at Grimrose. She has no time to prepare before the undead strikes her with its Voice, throwing her across the room with “FUS-ROH-DAH!” 

“Grimrose!” Silvyra shouts as Faendal backs the elven woman up with his arrows, cursing to himself. They have little effect other than drawing the ire of the Deathlord to him while Grimrose stands up on shaky legs. “I’m fine, child! Stay back!” She shouts at her ward, holding her sword in both hands as she gets her bearings. 

The Shout alone was enough to throw her for a loop, turning her insides tender and sore. But to be thrown across the room and slammed into the stone walls messed her up more, bruising her to the core. Shaking off her pain and leaping back into battle, Grimrose begins to think… the Shout came from his mouth, so if they could silence him they might gain the upper hand. And yet, it isn’t using the power recklessly. It’s as if it were unable to Shout more than once every couple minutes. 

The battle feels like it has gone on for hours to them, this unwavering and unrelenting beast not stopping even to catch its breath. Not needing to, able to keep going on even with a dozen arrows piercing its chest. Why would it need air?   
In reality, the battle has been going on for a couple minutes at the most, the longest of the dungeon so far.

The Deathlord must have been a commander, or a military trainer for the Nords back in his lifetime. His skills and swordplay far outskill the entirety of Riverwood, and are running Grimrose ragged the longer they exchange blows. She is wearing down, that much is plain to see, and the Draugr takes advantage of it. He takes a deep breath in to Shout her to bits, when the elven archer fires an arrow down his throat, forcing the draugr to stagger back. This gives Grimrose enough time to take a breath and lunge, shooting forward and piercing the draugr’s heart. 

Her sword gets halfway through the muscle before the Deathlord reacts, violently. Snapping his blade to parry, he ends up destroying her blade in his chest, gutturally threatening them in their draconic language as he falls to his knees. Tossing the busted hilt aside, Grimrose grabs the Deathlord by the head and kicks the broken blade deeper inside it, finishing the battle with little flair. 

She staggers back as Faendal catches her, Silvyra cheering the instant she thinks the fight is over, rushing to Grimrose’s side with her satchel of potions and loot. The elven woman shakes her head, and stands up on shaky legs. “Save the tonics. You may need them later,” Faendal advises while the elven woman loots the body, no sooner having gotten steady on her feet before checking for goods. 

“He’s right… I’m fine, as well. Roughed up, but some sleep will see me well again. Why don’t you check the sarcophagus, Silvyra? See if he left anything worth while,” Grimrose asks as she picks up the ancient ebony sword it was wielding with an appraiser's eye. It was the highest value item the beast had, and even old ebony is better than modern iron. Cleaning it and sheathing the blade on her hip, Grimrose looks around. 

Already Faendal has helped collect anything of value, Silvyra nearly going topside as she searches around the coffin. She emerges with a triumphant bounce, holding a dusty old stone above her head. “Look! I found a rock!” She declares, making Grimrose laugh aloud in spite of herself. “So you have, child! Careful, that looks very heavy.” It is a wonder she was able to lift it at all.   
Silvyra smiles to herself as she inspects the stone, tracing the old engravings before setting it down away from the draugr’s body. 

The adults finish sweeping the room for traps once the final enemy is pushed off the stone platform, and onto the natural rocks below. “It looks clear, Silvyra. I even collected a nice little sum of materials to sell off when we return to town.” Grimrose calls, splitting the sparse amount of jewelry she found by half in two separate bags of linen. “This is your share, for escorting my wayward ward this far.” She adds, tossing the heavier of the bags towards Faendal, who catches it with a surprised look on his face. 

“Can I keep the rock I found?” Silvyra asks, picking up the plate and following her guardian out of the cave, Grimrose pleased to find a hidden way out behind the waterfall. “I certainly won’t stop you, if you feel it is so interesting. Just don’t expect me to carry it down the mountain, I’ve got most everything else.”   
Silvyra stows the stone in her pack, staying in between Grimrose and Faendal as they march down the mountains. 

Her dunmer guardian is silent as they walk, and the longer she hears the chirps and twitters of nature all around them, Silvyra becomes more acutely aware of the awkward silence between them, and attempts to break this tension she feels by humming to herself. 

The tune carries on between them until, at last, Grimrose speaks up, not bothering to look behind her. “Silvyra. Once I return this item to the Valerius’, we shall begin our trek to Whiterun.”  
The child stops her humming, furrowing her brows as she takes in her guardian’s tone. “You sound… angry. Are you mad at me? We saved your life.” She says, quick and almost defensive. 

“Mad? I am grateful you rescued me. But I am somewhat upset you would have rushed into danger so recklessly… What if Faendal were not willing to escort you?” Grimrose slows her pace, glancing over to Silvyra with a stern expression. “Would you have still scaled the mountain, in the snow, with nothing but health potions to protect you?” 

Silvyra shrinks back a little, frowning and hugging her satchel to her. “... I told you, I saw something bad… I didn’t want you to die. I still don’t.”   
“Hm… I have that to thank for saving my hide from the draugr, I will admit, but please try not to run into the wilderness again. Understand, Silvyra?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young girl grumbles to herself. The sound of crunching snow fills the air as they walk, loud in their ears compared to the soft sounds of the forest before. It feels like almost no time at all until they reach the Riverwood Trader, where Lucan and Camilla await. 

Grimrose hails Lucan and reaches into her satchel to retrieve the claw, setting it on the counter before him with a nod. “I found your lost claw.” She says, gesturing to the golden figure while Faendal takes his opportunity to speak up, his eyes only for Camilla. “And I helped bring it back.”   
“Yes, Faendal was really helpful up there!” Silvyra whispers to Camilla from the sidelines, smiling as she flashes the wood elf a grin. 

“You found it? Ha ha ha. There it is. Strange... it seems smaller than I remembered. Funny thing, huh? I'm going to put this back where it belongs. I'll never forget this. You've done a great thing for me and my sister.” Lucan says, patting Grimrose on the shoulder as he rambles, his free hand examining the claw with a pawnbroker’s eye. “Just give me a moment, and I’ll have your reward ready.” 

“I also have brought a few things I wish to sell, as well.” Grimrose adds, going through the collective inventory and setting the few gems and jewels they pilfered on the counter.   
“Now this is a haul, those bandits must have been stealing from folks for a while,” Lucan says with a huff, more than happy to trade the jewels and gems for more gold and provisions. 

“They had a little camp up the mountain, at the entrance of the Barrow, and a tower further down.” Grimrose adds as she pockets her new goods. “I will tell the Jarl of Whiterun when I arrive as well. Dragons and bandits, he should know what dangers they pose to his people.” 

“Thank you so much. If you ever need anything… don’t hesitate to ask.” The Valerius’ wave to the dunmer and her charge as they leave, Faendal electing to remain and help clean the store at Camilla’s behest. Before she leaves the shop, Silvyra whispers a loud ‘good luck’ to her elven friend, bringing a nervous chuckle out of the bosmer. 

Together, Grimrose and Silvyra take stock for the trip, Grimrose making sure to stock her charge with healing potions, and teaching her how to maintain her armor for the future. Bidding all of Riverwood goodbye, they set out to the path ahead, following the road that leads to Whiterun. 

The sun is up, and any forest creatures have been chased off by the earlier fighting, so they are able to walk in relatively peaceful silence for a short time. That silence is cut short by Silvyra once more, pointing towards a waterfall ahead of them. “Look at that! There’s a statue, and I see a deer drinking from the stream!” 

Though she tries to stay quiet, the deer raises its head and looks at them in a startled way, legs buckling as it stamps back, sprinting into the underbrush without a sound. Silvyra makes a disappointed noise and lowers her pointing arm. “There was a deer...but it ran away,” She reiterates, making Grimrose let out a short laugh.   
“Yes, they tend to do that when they notice someone. Deer are skittish creatures, like tantha and whatnot.” 

Confused, the child looks at her dunmer escort and shakes her head. “What is a… tan-the?”

Grimrose flashes a little smile her way, and holds her hands up, roughly the size of a flower basket. “Tantha are a breed of creature I encountered in Cyrodiil, they usually live near Colovia or Hammerfell. They look like little monkeys with bird faces. They’re very timid,”   
“Oh, alright… A bird-monkey… Grimrose, what is a monkey?”  
“Right, Skyrim doesn’t have those… It's like a very small, creepy bear. When we get to Whiterun, maybe they will have a library with books on foreign animals.” 

“If the book has pictures I’ll be happy.” Silvyra says, watching the clouds roll along the sky, her spotting the outline of Whiterun in the distance. Grimrose chuckles as she murmurs to herself,   
“If it’s a Nordic book, it will have many pictures.”   
“What was that?”   
“Nothing… I said if we’re lucky, we will reach Whiterun by evening. Let’s pick up the pace, and keep an eye on the skies.” 

Minding her own advice, Grimrose ups the pace of their walk, her eyes scanning the skyline every once in a while, the sensation of walking along an open road such as this, surrounded by farmland, making her nerves feel raw…   
If that dragon stuck around, wouldn’t a herd of cows or some helpless farmers be appetizing? And yet, there are no burning fields of crops, no husks of houses left burnt down. If she hadn’t been burned by the dragon’s fire before, Grimrose would almost think the whole event had been a fevered nightmare.


	6. Footsore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silvyra and Grimrose make the march to Whiterun, and have the opportunity to chat a little on the road. Silvyra has many questions, but her primary concern is much more mundane.

Silvyra follows Grimrose quietly after a while, having exhausted her line of complaints about what parts of her feet ached, and how tired she was getting, and that they were walking too fast for too long, reluctantly marching behind the dunmer woman of mystery. Grimrose kept glancing to the skyline as they walked, but Silvyra trusted that she was just keeping an eye out for danger.

Though they had been traveling together for a short time, she was growing attached to the strange elf, and was growing more anxious with each step towards the city, her palms sweating at the idea of being left alone in a strange place with no one she knew. And by her own admission, Grimrose intended to leave her with this Olava woman and run off to wherever it was she said...  
“Um… Grimrose! You… you won’t leave me right away, right? When we find this person in Whiterun… you won’t run away, right?” 

Shocked by the sudden question, Grimrose looks at Silvyra with wide eyes. “Dump you off with some stranger? I have no plans to do so, child. I was put in charge of your care, even if it is just until we reach Whiterun. I plan to speak with this Olava -your mother mentioned, and unless she is a direct relative of kind heart, I was planning on bringing you with me to Solstheim.” Grimrose admits, flinching some as she says it aloud. “That sounds terrible… If I didn’t know myself, I’d say it was kidnapping.” 

“You don’t want to get rid of me…” Silvyra sighs in relief, closing her eyes for a moment before looking back to Grimrose, some of her fears put at ease. “What’s in that Solstheim you need? I thought your home was in Cyrodiil.” 

Grimrose’s expression changes into something hard for Silvyra to read, and the dunmer looks ahead to the city… silent for a while, before choosing her words carefully. “My father passed away, and I wish to pay my respects. The rest of my family is already in Raven Rock.”  
“Your Paw died...I’m sorry, Rosie.” Silvyra gives her a comforting hug from behind, ignoring how her dunmer guardian stiffens briefly at her arms wrapping around her middle, exhaling before patting the child’s arm. “You said you got other family… What about your Ma?”

“Both of my fathers have passed now. The family awaiting me are my children.” Grimrose begins, “They were staying with their grandfathers for a time, learning about their culture from more experienced teachers than I.”

Silvyra, bless her little heart, is shocked to hear Grimrose has children, and runs around in front of her guardian with wide eyes as she yells. “You had babies!? But you- you don’t look old!”  
Pleased by her blunt if confused compliment, Grimrose laughs loud and long, the tension she felt broke like a wave by laughter. “Elves don’t age as fast as humans do, child. My babies are older than you, and I am probably older than most people in Riverwood.” 

“Well, how old are you?” Silvyra presses as they continue walking, examining Grimrose carefully, trying to pinpoint her age by scanning her face as if it would reveal the answers. 

Her eyes crinkle a little as she teasingly says, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to ask a woman her age?”, patting Silvyra’s head and pointing ahead of them, signaling for her to look ahead. 

The dirt road from Riverwood had gradually given way to cobblestone, and Silvyra could see the plains surrounding Whiterun rolling outwards in all directions. Crop fields were divided by old looking stone walls, and Silvyra could see people manning the fields, pulling up cabbages and harvesting wheat in the morning light. “It’s so cold out this morning…” Silvyra says aloud, watching the farmers as they pass. They aren’t wearing full furs, or hats to cover their ears- like her mother might have told her to do once upon a time. “How can they stand it?” 

“They may be used to it. Nords like them can handle bitter cold better than other races, girl. And those who have lived here their whole lives better still. To them, this summer day might even feel a tad warm.” Grimrose informs, her eyes sweeping over the farmers before she resumed keeping watch. 

“Warm? I can almost see my breath…” Silvyra mutters, rubbing her arms to fend off the chill in the air. The soft sounds of the stream following the road they walked created a peaceful lull as the child took in the scenery. The grass of the plains shifted as the wind rolled over it, and in the distance she could see the outline of mountains and forests. 

Grimrose stops by a post where the road splits off in several directions, the closest being the city of Whiterun itself. “Look here, we’ve very nearly made it. If you ever find yourself alone in the world, these signs will help you locate the general direction of civilization, Silvyra,” She says, tapping the old wood with a knuckle, inspecting the markage with a scoff. “Unfortunately, they don’t tell you how far away it is… I believe the next closest city would be Falkreath, and that’s well over twelve hours away by foot.”  
Silvyra squints at the sign with Grimrose, and looks over the words engraved in the wood. “...I don’t see Falkreath up there.” 

“It isn’t. Falkreath is closer to Helgen and Riverwood than it is to Whiterun, child. Last I checked it was, at least… It has been some time since I was in Skyrim. You don’t suppose the roads have shrunk, do you?” She chuckles, turning her back towards the sign and facing the city. 

“I hope not, but that would make it less roads to walk,” The girl says, all too keenly aware of her sore feet as she takes in the road leading into Whiterun.  
Wooden outposts where she sees guards watching them dot the road, and she sees a stable right outside the main walls of the city. From what she can see, there is only one old looking horse boarded inside the stalls, but another stands hitched to a carriage just before them. A voice calls out to them, giving Silvyra a small start, ducking behind Grimrose as they face the man seated at the carriage’s seat. 

“Need a ride?” Asks the nord driver, leaning back at his post. Grimrose waves his offer off, shaking her head as she speaks.  
“Not yet, but I do have a question for you, if you’ve got the time.”  
He simply shrugs, and sets the reins down beside him, giving the dunmer his attention, looking thoughtful as she speaks up and asks: “What do you know of Whiterun?” 

“Well…” He drawls out, scratching his chin as he looks ahead, as if sifting through his memories. “I know the Companions make their home here. Their mead hall, Jorrvaskr, is the oldest building in the city,” He pauses, gauging their reactions.  
Grimrose’s face is stoic, but there is a hint of wonder in Silvyra’s eyes. 

“Oh, and there's been a nasty feud between two families called the Gray-Manes and Battle-Borns for some time now. You'll want to be careful there. The rest you can find out by asking the townsfolk, I suppose. I'd start with the barkeep at the Bannered Mare, or the castle steward if you can get an audience.”

“I appreciate the information, friend. Good day,” Grimrose nods briefly at Silvyra to encourage her to follow, the child needing little reminder to stick close as they resume their walk up the path. Silvyra’s eyes continue to wander, growing more excited as she points out little things to her guardian, the questions resuming again. 

“Why do they have that little stream coming from those grates?”  
“It’s something of a sewer system, I believe… Don’t play in it.”  
“Why not? What’s in a sewer?” 

“All sorts of nasties. Rats-- or, skeevers, I suppose you call them here, diseases… people also relieve themselves in sewers, so most of that stream there is greywater.” Grimrose briefly recalls traipsing through a sewer system a shudder, when she was younger and much more foolish. Back in the Imperial City, the sewers were rife with not only giant rats, but also feral goblin tribes, and the occasional escaped criminal or drug-addict. 

Silvyra’s nose wrinkles at the notion of greywater, and she gives the stream a wider berth than before. “Ew! Is that why they have that bridge over there, so people don’t step in it?”

“I believe it has the same purpose as the wall around your hometown of Helgen,”  
“Keep out bandits and wild animals?”  
“To keep out bandits and wild animals… yes, indeed,” 

They grow silent afterwards, Silvyra too tired to continue her line of questioning, and trying to avoid lingering on the thoughts of Helgen… Soon, they have arrived at the gates to Whiterun. Seeing no harm in the two of them, or no reason to bar them entry, the guards posted at the massive wooden gate open the doors to the sprawling city at last. 

“Whoa… there’s still so much ground to cover…” Silvyra laments, stepping in and letting her arms hand at her sides, hunching over as if the weight of the idea is too much for her head to handle. “Can we please take a break? I want to have lunch, and my feet-- 

“Are killing you, I heard you the first dozen times along the road. Yes, we can take a break. I see a place ahead, let’s head inside.” Grimrose says, gesturing to the builded labeled ‘Drunken Huntsman’. At the moment, neither of them hardly care if it is the right place, just that it is a place with seats for a moment’s rest, and perhaps a modicum of information to point them in the right direction. 

When they enter the Drunken Huntsman, Grimrose takes a quick survey of the inn, her eyes sweeping from corner to corner appraisingly. In an alcove watching the door sits a dunmer woman, who has an air to her which screams sword for hire. Maybe it’s the way her eyes size up Grimrose as she enters, or the way she polishes the sword at her knee. They share a nod between each other, and Grimrose’s eyes wander elsewhere while the woman resumes her maintenance. 

Tending to the fire spit is an older man, clad in fine clothes that suggest to Grimrose he is wealthy. He doesn’t raise his head to welcome them, or even deign to notice their presence, so she feels it is unlike he is under the tavern’s employ...

Lastly, behind the counter stands a bosmer man, who smiles welcomingly at the duo as he locks eyes with Grimrose. “Hello, friends. In the market for some supplies?”, he asks, leaning on the counter as he awaits their reply.  
“I was hoping for a room, first.” Grimrose begins, coming to stand before the counter as Silvyra plops herself in a stool at her side. “How much for a night?” 

“That’d be ten coin, miss. There’s a room upstairs available, I can show it to you if you want.”  
Grimrose shakes her head, glancing up the stairs as she digs into her coin purse for the money. “That will be unnecessary. Here’s your money for the room,” She holds it out to drop gingerly into his palm, glancing at her ward as the man counts it out and inspects the coin for legitimacy. 

“You can go up and rest for a while. When you’re done, we’ll take care of business.” Grimrose says lowly to the child, who nods slowly and yawns, covering her mouth with her sleeve. When the innkeep gives the key to Grimrose, the dunmer simply passes it off to Silvyra and allows the child to walk to their room. 

Looking back to the innkeeper, Grimrose lets herself relax for a moment before speaking to the bosmer man. “How much for an ale, and some of the stew in the pot there?”  
“The stew comes with buying the room, but an ale would be 8 gold,”  
Grimrose nods and sets the money in his outstretched hand, picking up her drink, getting a bowl of stew, and going to one of the empty tables in the corner. She sits so she faces both exits, and the stairs leading to the rented room, keeping an ear out for noises above her, and keeps watch along the rest of the inn’s patrons. 

The old nord man and the mercenary in the corner don’t seem to pay any mind to Grimrose, who sips her ale slowly as to unwind after a long trip. After everything that happened in Helgen, this might be her first moment to herself in a while… she intends to kick back if only for a moment and savor the temporary peace.  
The plans to find Olava can wait until after she finishes this ale… 

Several moments pass, and the dunmer guardian sets her finished stew to the side, careful not to let her disappointment show on her face. It’s a stew, in the barest sense of the word… She recognizes venison as the main ingredient, but notes a distinct lack of any spices or herbs to accentuate the flavor.  
She gives the innkeeper a side-eye, sighing lowly. Of course there were no herbs… He’s a Bosmer, and judging by the lack of seasoning alone she can safely assume he follows the Green Pact of his people. Something she never understood fully, but somewhere in the back of her mind she remembers it has something to do with their religious beliefs. A shame it gets in the way of good cooking on occasion. 

Before she can further ponder the bland stew or the Green Pact, one of the sets of doors bursts open, startling her for an instant. When Grimrose sees none of the other patrons are bothered by the intrusion, she glances at the noisy newcomers with a furrow of her brows. A pair of nords walk in, a man and a woman, the man hauling a huge sack in his arms as he approaches the counter. Immediately, Grimrose recognizes the faint scent of blood coming off them in waves, and sets her ale down slowly. 

“Greetings, my good friend! The hunt was good, Eilrandr, and we have your share of the spoils!” The man says, a large grin on his face as his booming voice reaches even to the back of the inn. “It is venison! Aela and I already butchered it, this is the fine cut meat for you and your brother.” 

“In exchange, I would like to purchase more arrows,” The woman, Aela presumably, says firmly, setting down her near-empty quiver and inspecting Eilrandr the innkeeper's stock of arrows.  
“Of course! Just let me weigh the meat and we can work out a trade, my friends,” the bosmer says, accepting the meat behind the counter, inspecting it on a table behind him, pulling out a bundle of pre-wrapped venison. 

The younger nord man grins again, his fists resting on his hips as he looks around the inn idly, awaiting the transaction with the same level of patience one might see in a puppy, his foot tapping tunelessly on the wooden floor. When he spots Grimrose in the corner, his whole demeanor seems to brighten even further, abandoning his sale to Aela as he marches towards the newcomer with a quickness she didn’t expect from someone so bulky. 

“Greetings! I don’t recognize your face, traveler. Are you new to Whiterun? What brings you here, hm?” The man asks, taking it upon himself to sit across from Grimrose, resting his elbows on the table.

Taken aback, she blinks away her confusion before answering the man, slowly as if she were speaking to a child. “I am in town on business, and I sincerely doubt you would recognize my face.”  
“I think I’m fairly good at remembering faces, and remembering names. Now, the names of the faces are where things get a little hazy!” He laughs, smacking the table once. “My name is Liones Wulfson, what do you call yourself?” 

“You can call me Grimrose, if you remember.” She says, quirking her head some and extending her hand. “Nice to meet you, Liones… I think.”  
The nord man grips her hand in both of his, shaking her hand with a vigor she yet again would only expect from a pup. 

“Nice to meet you, Grimrose! What sort of business brings you here? Are you planning on joining the Companions? You’ve got the hands for it, and you look strong.” He begins, inspecting her hand with a trained eye. 

“That wasn’t my intention… I’m looking for someone I believe lives here.” Grimrose says, pulling her hand away the instant he loosens his grip. “Does anyone by the name Olava live locally?”

“Do you mean Olava the Feeble?” The nord woman asks from beside Liones, having finished gathering her new arrows. “What business do you have with that old woman?” She asks, narrowing her eyes and looking Grimrose up and down slowly. Appraisingly… The dunmer gets the distinct feeling she is being sized up by some kind of predator, but shakes the feeling off. It is seldom that all people are welcoming to elvenkind such as herself, specifically the dunmer kind. 

“I was told to bring someone to her,” Grimrose begins, sipping her ale again and looking away from the nords, as if ignoring them for a moment. “... I know she lives in Whiterun, somewhere.” 

“She does, she lives just behind Breezehome,” the man says with a helpful smile, twisting away from Aela when she gives him a subtle pinch in the side. “Ow! She does, why should we hide it?”  
“You don’t think it somewhat suspicious…?” Aela drawls, glancing Grimrose up and down again. 

“Oh! Well… no. I don’t think so,” Liones says, before turning to the dunmer again with that same smile. “I trust that if you try anything, you’d be taken care of before you got away with any crimes. Not just by the guards, the Companions protect our home too.” 

“Well… I’ll consider myself properly warned, thanks,” She says, curling her lip in a half warning smile. “I just seek Olava, afterwards I have every intention of leaving Whiterun.”

“That’s fine too! So long as you don’t cause trouble, I think everyone should be welcome. Olava lives behind Breezehome, like I said earlier. To get there,” Liones begins, pointing towards the other set of doors, “Leave the Drunken Huntsman, follow the path between the house across from it and between the smithy-- it’s called Warmaiden’s by the way-- and Olava usually sits out on her bench in the mornings.” 

“By now, she is probably resting, though.” Aela adds, crossing her arms and watching the exchange play out, electing to let her companion make his own choices. Grimrose nods her thanks to the man, and stands up.  
“I won’t bother her until tomorrow morning, in that case. Thank you for the information and… hospitality.” Grimrose gives a little bow as she turns to leave the two nords sharing a look between each other as she ascends the stairs. 

She gives a little knock to the door as she enters the room, smiling to herself a little as she sees Silvyra already fast asleep in the center of the bed. Grimrose examines the room some before closing the door behind her.  
A single bed, which the child has already taken the majority of, dominates the center of the room. Two nightstands by the head of the bed on either size, an empty wardrobe to keep their things in, and lastly a chest at the foot of the bed. 

Grimrose gives a little sigh of relief as she checks inside, finding more blankets and pillows for their use. At least she won’t be sleeping in some old chair this time, her aching neck is already thanking her. She sets up her makeshift bedding to the right of the bed, a few feet in front of the door, before getting into more comfortable clothes for the evening. 

She doesn’t bother waking up Silvyra, merely removes the boots from the sleeping child and tucks her into the bed. The girl is too tired to respond, and Grimrose feels it would be cruel to wake her now. Their business can wait until tomorrow… Leaving a note pinned to the inside of the door, addressed to Silvyra, Grimrose pulls her hair from its confines and brushes her fingers through it a few times, giving a ragged sigh as she sits on the floor beside her ‘bed’. 

Already she feels the fatigue of recent events weighing her down, and she barely remembers to lock the door before crawling under the covers and falling into a deep, deep sleep.


End file.
